Page 23 of End Game (William Warwick #8)

O NCE A RTEMISIA HAD BOARDED the tube bound for the Olympic Park, she would remove the pass and tuck it in a pocket, because while she was on the train, she needed to look like a spectator, not a competitor: that would come later.

One more glance in the mirror before she joined the lions in the arena.

‘You certainly look the part,’ said Robert, ‘but will you fool an alert security guard?’

‘I think I just might,’ said Artemisia, without taking her eyes off the mirror.

Artemisia took one final look in the mirror before she kissed Robert goodbye and left their flat to begin her new life as Annie Charnock.

She was now even more determined to get an exclusive that would make the front page, not to mention the ultimate test for any journalist: every other newspaper would have to follow up her story the following day.

On the tube journey to the Olympic Park, she continued to read her book on épée fencing, in case anyone should ask her a question.

The épée was the heaviest of the three weapons used in competition, the other two being the foil and the sabre.

While the bout was taking place, you had to remain within a restricted area; if you stepped out, you automatically lost the bout.

If you were the first to make five direct hits, you won the bout; three bouts and you won the match.

She’d reached the lunge by the time the train pulled into Stratford station.

She jumped off the tube and quickly made her way to the Olympic Park and, with the help of her map, went in search of the athletes’ village.

It was hard to miss, with its high protective wire fence surrounding the entire enclave, beyond which a large crowd of fans was hanging around hoping to catch a glimpse of their heroes and even get a selfie.

Artemisia slowly circled the eight-foot-high fence to discover there was only one way in.

She stood a few yards back from the entrance and watched carefully as several competitors strolled in and out, but only after their passes had been checked.

She got close enough to learn that Jim was the name of the NCO on duty.

When a couple of the more recognizable faces appeared, he didn’t even bother to check their passes.

Artemisia waited patiently and chose her moment carefully.

She didn’t make her move until she spotted a group of young women from the British team heading for the compound, who were clearly friends.

Once she’d established they weren’t fencers, Artemisia quickly joined them, and when she showed her pass said, ‘Thank you, Jim.’

The NCO smiled and said, ‘Good luck, Annie.’

She was in.

···

Ross was sitting in his taxi at the corner of Cadogan Square, waiting for Miles Faulkner to appear.

All other priorities had been dropped now, and he would remain constantly on Faulkner’s tail.

The events of the last few days had proved beyond question that the Russians were attempting to sabotage the Games and Faulkner was working alongside them.

Beth had been right to be suspicious from the outset.

William had already briefed Ross about the letter Beth had received from the Russian Embassy, and they both agreed that the Van Gogh must be the hold they had over Faulkner.

Only an unobtainable masterpiece could make a man like Faulkner become involved in something that could end up with a life sentence for treason.

Nothing would give Ross greater pleasure than to be the arresting officer.

Ross watched carefully when the familiar Rolls-Royce drew up outside Faulkner’s home with Collins behind the wheel. Faulkner appeared a few minutes later, climbed into the back of the car, and no sooner had the door closed than Collins drove off.

But when the Rolls reached the end of the road, Collins didn’t turn left as usual, but right.

The sudden break in Faulkner’s routine took Ross by surprise, but only for a moment.

Suddenly, he was wide awake, giving clear orders to his fleet of taxis, none of them driven by cabbies.

Ross kept his distance while his team followed their target south out of London, not stopping until they reached Biggin Hill private airfield in Middlesex.

Ross focused his binoculars on the runway just as Faulkner climbed aboard his Learjet only moments before it took off.

Ross was puzzled by the fact that the only passenger didn’t seem to have any luggage, so he assumed it had to be a round trip – but to where?

An airport official informed him, after he checked his warrant card, that the private jet was bound for Finland – information Ross passed on to William, who immediately briefed Professor Meredith at GCHQ, who in turn spoke to his man in Helsinki.

···

The third secretary at the British Embassy set off for Vantaa airport long before Faulkner’s plane would seek permission to land. From a corner table in the rooftop restaurant, he watched as the jet landed and taxied to its allocated apron. The man then abandoned his fourth coffee.

Once the third secretary had seen the plane take back off, he returned to his desk at the British Embassy and reported to the professor the unlikely sequence of events he’d just witnessed.

‘Once the plane’s engines had been turned off,’ he said, ‘a Volvo with local plates drove onto the runway and headed towards the aircraft. The driver stepped out of the car carrying what looked like a shoebox. He then climbed the aircraft steps, at which point the passenger door opened and a pair of arms appeared. The driver handed over the package, which disappeared inside, and moments later the passenger door was closed.’

Professor Meredith didn’t stop making notes.

‘Once the plane had been refuelled, the engines were turned back on before it began to taxi back towards the runway. The aircraft took off forty minutes after it had landed.’

Professor Meredith called William the moment he’d put the phone down and reported verbatim what his man in Helsinki had told him, before adding, ‘And now you’ll have to make a decision I don’t envy.’

‘Namely?’ said William.

‘Do you arrest Faulkner as he gets off his plane and discover what’s in the box, or do you follow the box to find out who it’s being delivered to?’

‘If I’m to confirm who Faulkner’s working for,’ said William, ‘I need to know where the box is going.’

‘I agree,’ said Meredith. ‘Call me the moment you know the answer, because you can be sure we’ll already have a thick file on whoever receives it.’

William’s next call was to Ross, with clear instructions not to arrest Faulkner but to follow the box.

···

By the time Faulkner’s plane landed back at Biggin Hill, Ross’s fleet of taxis was in place all along the route back into London.

One of them watched the passenger from a distance as he walked down the steps off his plane, firmly clinging on to what did look like a shoebox.

He didn’t let go of the box when he stepped into the back of the Rolls, despite Collins offering to take it.

The taxi relay went into action as Collins headed for central London.

‘We’re being followed,’ said Collins, as he glanced in his wing mirror.

Faulkner sighed. ‘So it seems Warwick and his team are well aware I’ve been to Helsinki.’

‘I wonder why they didn’t check what’s inside the box when you went through customs?’

‘Because I imagine they’re more interested in who the box is being delivered to than what’s inside it. Never underestimate Warwick,’ said Faulkner. ‘We’ll have to switch to plan B.’ He sent a text message to an unnamed number.

Collins took the next turning off the motorway and smiled when he saw the taxi was still following him.

···

When Ross saw the Rolls-Royce leaving the motorway, he swore. He’d been spotted. He would have to switch cars as soon as possible if he was to find out where the box was destined for.

He radioed the nearest member of his fleet of taxis and told them to get into position for a quick changeover, before adding, ‘I’ll drive, but you stay in the car – if Faulkner gets out and we need to follow him on foot, it had better be an officer he won’t recognize.’

···

‘A different taxi is now following us,’ said Collins, as he looked in his rear-view mirror, ‘but I think it’s the same driver. None other than our old friend Sergeant Ross. Do I stick to plan B?’

‘Yes,’ said Faulkner, not bothering to look back, while Collins kept to the planned route.

···

Ross drew his new taxi to a stop outside Fulham Broadway station, fifty yards behind the Rolls-Royce.

‘He’s getting out of the car,’ said the young detective at his side.

‘And still clinging onto the box,’ added Ross. ‘Get out and tail him. I’ll follow the Rolls if it leaves, just in case.’

The young detective leapt out and ran into the tube station, slowing down when he spotted Faulkner going through the ticket barrier.

Faulkner stepped onto the escalator, tucking in behind a tall man.

The detective remained several steps behind and watched as Faulkner headed for the platform, not looking back as the train pulled in.

The detective slipped into an adjoining carriage and took a seat between two passengers, only his eyes moving.

Faulkner travelled for four stops before he got off the tube.

The detective was among the last to leave the train, but he never let Faulkner out of his sight, as the mark headed for the Exit sign.

He was halfway up the escalator before he realized that Faulkner was no longer carrying the box.

Ross had been following Collins in the Rolls-Royce for fifteen minutes when the car came to a halt outside another station.

Ross parked on the other side of the road, just in time to see an empty-handed Faulkner strolling out of the station without once looking back.

He climbed into the back of the Rolls, and the young detective emerged a second later, looking both embarrassed and ashamed.

Petrov travelled for another four stops before he got off at Westminster. He stood on the escalator, eyes moving in every direction, while keeping the box tucked under his bulky raincoat and sticking to the blind spots of any CCTV cameras wherever possible.

When he left the underground, he hailed a taxi. No one followed him.

Thirty minutes later, the Rolls came to a halt in Cadogan Square. Miles got out and gave Ross a wave before he entered number 37.

···

‘So we still don’t know what he was carrying?’ William said, after Ross had phoned to brief him.

Ross sighed. ‘Faulkner was at least two steps ahead of us. Again. He even spotted me.’

William frowned. Should he have told customs to check what was in the box when Faulkner’s plane landed at Biggin Hill? He had placed his bet on seeing who the package was delivered to, and lost.

‘Did you get any photographs of the package?’ Ross asked.

‘Several, but I don’t know how much they can tell us. It looks like a normal shoebox. Blue, probably cardboard. But anything could be inside.’

Before he could pursue that thought any further, Ross added, ‘I’ll get in touch with TfL and see if the CCTV can tell us anything, but I’m not hopeful.

The train Faulkner got on was probably an older one, unlikely to have any cameras installed, and there’s no way of knowing where the person he left the package with got off.

It could take days to trawl through the footage of every station on the District line.

’ He paused. ‘Do you think this is just another distraction?’

‘No, I don’t,’ said William. ‘They wouldn’t have tried so hard to lose you if this had just been about wasting your time. Whatever is in that package, it’s something they don’t want us to know about. I’ll call Professor Meredith and see if he can come up with any suggestions.’

‘No doubt he will come up with something even worse than the stadium lights going out,’ said Ross.

‘That’s his job,’ said William, with a sigh.

One of his other phones began to ring.